


Girl, That Night Was Just Like You

by MeghanAnna



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeghanAnna/pseuds/MeghanAnna
Summary: They've been friends for two years but have never once talked about the night they met. Bellamy's not even sure Clarke remembers that night. He does, though. He always has.





	Girl, That Night Was Just Like You

**Author's Note:**

> So... I've wanted to write this au for months now and just never got around to it. When I saw it was a prompt for bff, I grabbed it immediately! And the timing was perfect because I'm off to see Thomas Rhett live this weekend! 
> 
> _bff prompt: Hello all!! First, thank you so much for everything that you do. I absolutely love this page and I can't thank you guys enough for taking the time to keep this up, I know that it's not an easy job. Second, I was listening to Unforgettable by Thomas Rhett and I couldn't help but think that it would be so perfect for Bellarke. Thank you again, you guys are amazing!!! ___

“How did the two of you meet?” 

“Oh, we’re not together,” Clarke answers quickly, unwinding her arm from around his. “I mean, we’re here together, but we’re not  _ together _ together. Not like that.”

Bellamy looked at her as soon as she answered—so quickly, it hurt a little—but as she continued talking, he couldn’t look away. She’s right—they’re not together like that—but, still… 

“But you did have to meet sometime, right?” 

Bellamy smiles tightly at his colleague—an older woman he’s only spoken to a handful of times in the hallway. “Mutual friends,” he explains, letting Clarke off the hook and ending that line of conversation in one swoop. He’s not lying, but he’s not telling the whole truth either. 

“That’s nice,” she says, mercifully, before walking away to talk to someone else. 

Clarke reclaims his arm and he studies her, but she’s not paying attention to him, instead looking at the table of food across the lawn. “Hungry?” he asks and she smiles at him.

“I could eat.”

“Let’s go.”

He invited her to his colleague’s  party, celebrating the end of the school year because he wanted to make sure he had someone to talk to. And, since Clarke is his favorite person to talk to, it just made sense to ask her. Plus, he knew she’d get along with the other teachers at his school and she’s much better at making friends than he is. He’s only been there for one school year and he needs all the help he can get. 

It’s not weird that someone would ask how they met. They  _ are  _ at a party together, stuck to each other’s sides, like always. People ask him about it all the time and he just always assumed they asked Clarke, too. But no one’s ever asked them when they were standing together, for whatever reason. He never imagined it would be such an awkward question. He always tells people it was through mutual friends and that’s always been enough to please them. 

When they get to the food, Clarke unhooks her arm again and grabs two plates, handing him one. “We can leave after we eat,” he tells her, looking around the backyard. “We’ve talked to everyone I know already.”

“But did we make you any  _ friends _ ?” she asks pointedly and he shrugs. 

“I can never tell,” he admits and she rubs a soothing hand down his arm. “I think just showing up here helped.”

“We can leave whenever you want.”

“Thanks.”

\--

They stayed longer than Bellamy thought they would. After they ate, they played a game of corn hole with the English teacher—whose class was right next to his—and his husband. After they lost, they had some beers with another history teacher and a math teacher. Clarke got caught up talking to the studio art teacher while Bellamy got into a lively—but not unfriendly— debate on the other side of the yard.

It’s dark when they finally start walking toward Bellamy’s car. “I’d say that was a successful work outing,” Clarke tells him, nudging him with her shoulder. He laughs and pushes her away teasingly. “Seriously, they were all pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, running his hand through his sweaty curls. It was a long, hot day in the sun. “They’re good people. It’s a good school and a good job. But you know I have friends, right? I don’t need new ones.”

“I know,” Clarke promises. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have people to eat lunch with every day so you can stop eating alone in your classroom.”

“Fair point.”

“All I’m saying is you have plenty of decent options,” she tells him and then reaches over to squeeze his wrist quickly. “Just don’t forget about your real friends.”

“Impossible.” He says it lightly, but it’s true. His friends are so ingrained in his life, it’s crazy. Hell, he only met Clarke two years ago and now she’s a part of his everyday life. He can’t go more than a few hours without texting or talking to her. He sees her at least twice a week. 

The ride to her house is quiet. They’re both exhausted from a full day in the sun and Clarke needs to work tomorrow, so she’s sitting in quiet dread, jealous of Bellamy’s summer off. 

When he pulls into her driveway, she sits up and unbuckles her seatbelt before turning to face him. “I had fun today,” she says and Bellamy nods in agreement. “Bar on Thursday?”

“I’ll see you there,” he promises and she leans over to kiss him on the cheek before sliding out of the car. As always, he sits in his car until she’s safely inside and waves at him through the screen door. 

When he gets home, Miller is playing a video game on their couch, but pauses it to ask how the party was. 

“It was actually pretty good,” he says, kicking his shoes off into the corner next to the door where there’s already a pile of sneakers and flip-flops from the two of them. “They loved Clarke.”

“Which is exactly why you brought her,” Miller reminds him and Bellamy laughs and sits down next to him. “Well, that and because you’ll find any excuse to hang out with her because you’re  _ just friends _ and there’s  _ nothing  _ else going on.”

“Shut up,” Bellamy says automatically. It’s been two years of the same conversation. “Although, there was a weird moment when someone asked how we met.”

“That’s a normal question when two people go everywhere together,” Miller says, tossing his controller on the coffee table, realizing that he won’t be able to unpause his game for at least a couple of more minutes.

“No, I know,” Bellamy says, scooching back so he’s in the corner of the sectional and Miller pulls his legs onto the cushions and gets comfortable, too. “The question was normal. It was Clarke’s answer.”

“Did she tell them about the night you met and made out in a dark corner and then acted like it never happened when you met again three weeks later?” Miller asks flatly.

“No,” Bellamy answers swiftly. “She just answered really quickly and said that we aren’t dating. Someone asked how we met and her answer was  _ we’re not together _ .”

“That’s not how you answer that question.”

“ _ I know _ ,” Bellamy stresses and Miller looks at the ceiling, as if the answer is written there. “It was weird. And then she just went on rambling.”

“She’s always weird.”

“Not like this,” Bellamy tells him. “She knows how to have a conversation and keep it flowing and civil. She was practically bred for it.”

“That’s true.”

“Why has no one ever asked us that before?” Bellamy asks and Miller just shrugs. “People have asked  _ me _ , but no one’s ever asked the two of us.”

“Do you think she actually does remember the night you met?” Miller asks carefully. For two years, they just assumed she was drunk and forgot it ever happened. When they met again three weeks after the first time, she introduced herself normally and said it was nice to meet him. 

“It’s possible,” Bellamy answers, just as carefully. The thought deeply embarrasses him. He feels the shame in his gut. “Oh my god. I hope not. Then she’d be thinking that  _ I  _ forgot this whole time.”

“You could always ask her about it.”

“You’re hilarious, Miller,” Bellamy says, rolling his eyes. “Really.”

\--

On Thursday, Bellamy is the last to get to the bar. Clarke is there with the rest of their friends, taking over two booths in the back. And the only seat is next to her—of course. “Hey,” she greets him when he sits down. 

“Hey.” Miller is sitting in the booth behind him and gently slaps him in the back of his head when he hears how closed off Bellamy sounds and he sighs. “How’s it going?” he asks, trying to sound normal and now Miller pets his hair. Bellamy has to be as subtle as possible when he reaches behind him and pushes his hand away. 

“Good,” Clarke says, eyeing him curiously. “How are  _ you _ ?”

“I’m good,” he tells her, reaching down to squeeze her knee before turning his attention to Raven sitting across from them. She seems to be watching the two of them already. “Where’s your new boyfriend? I thought he would be here.”

“I told him he didn’t have to come. I’m not sure if he’ll actually show up. I warned him about all of you, so I wouldn’t blame him if he bailed.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not going to force him through that. You’re all a lot to deal with. I don’t even know how I’ve done it this long.”

“We’re  _ charming _ ,” Clarke corrects and Raven tosses a piece of popcorn at her. “You don’t have a drink,” she says to him now, pushing him out of the booth. She stands with him and they walk to the bar together. 

“Want something?” he asks her once they’re leaning against the surface, waiting for the bartender to see them.

“The usual, please.” Bellamy nods and turns to try and make eye contact with the man behind the bar who’s too busy flirting with someone on the other end. Clarke’s on her toes, doing her best to get noticed. Bellamy doesn’t understand how people  _ don’t  _ notice her right away. From that first night, she was the most obvious thing in the world to him.

“Do you remember the first time we were at this bar together?” he asks her—because not asking her might actually kill him at this point— and she immediately falls back onto her heels and looks at him. He’s only looking at her out of the corner of his eyes, too nervous to face her head on, but she looks stunned. 

“Do  _ you _ ?” she challenges and he laughs. 

“Of course I do, Clarke.”

“You don’t remember  _ everything _ , though,” she tells him and now he fully turns toward her. “Do you?”

“It was your 21 st birthday,” he starts and watches her swallow and squeeze her eyes shut a second. “You were here with Raven and your friend, Wells, I think.” 

“It was Wells,” she agrees quietly. 

“We were on the other side of the bar. You were ordering a margarita and your shirt was slipping off your shoulder every five seconds. You were drunk.”

“So were you!”

“Yeah, but I was more subtle about it,” he argues and she shakes her head, laughing. 

“You spent, like, twenty minutes guessing my middle name! For no reason!”

“I know it now,” Bellamy says and she nods, tamping down her smile. “Um, but then that asshole came up and tried flirting with you.”

“Ugh,  _ Finn. _ ”

“Yeah, him,” Bellamy says with a small laugh. “So you told him I was your boyfriend and you dragged me away to that corner back there.”

They both turn to look at the corner in question, just as the bartender finally comes over to them. “What’ll you have?”

Clarke takes Bellamy by the hand, ignoring the bartender, and drags him past their friends so they’re back in the corner—alone. “What else?” she asks, almost like she’s afraid to know the answer. 

“Um,” he looks down, trying to think of what happened next and then smiles at her when he does. “You were  _ obsessed _ with that terrible Coldplay song. When it came on, you screamed in my face and sang the entire first half, then you started laughing so hard, you couldn’t finish it.”

“I was laughing because you wouldn’t stop dancing,” she tells him, laughing just as hard as she was that night. Bellamy covers his face—humiliated. “Who does the running man to  _ Coldplay _ ?”

“Hey, you must have liked it,” he says, looking at her again and she sighs, letting a slow smile emerge. 

“Yeah.” It sounds almost dreamy when she says it. Bellamy bites back his smile. “I didn’t hate it.”

“Please,” he scoffs, “you loved it. Otherwise, you would have never have kissed me.”

“I was drunk and you were hot,” she tells him easily. “Of course I would have kissed you. It just happened sooner than it would have, due to your ridiculous dancing.”

“You tasted like mangoes,” he says softly, remembering. 

“It was the margarita.” Bellamy nods and they just look at each other for a few seconds. “You acted like you didn’t remember me—when Miller and Monty introduced us.”

“You  _ shook my hand  _ and introduced yourself,” he reminds her. “I just followed suit.”

“I saw it in your face.”

“I remembered you. I remembered everything,” he promises. “I still do.”

Clarke smiles at that and Bellamy takes a step closer to her. Their entire relationship is on the table, from the very beginning to this moment and she doesn’t seem scared or disgusted. She looks as excited as he feels. It’s monumental. 

Until her face falls. 

“What-”

“I think Zeke is here,” she tells him, nodding back toward their friends. A couple of them are looking around— probably for them—while he’s being introduced to the rest. “We need to go say hi.”

Bellamy steps back and rolls his shoulders, noticing for the first time that she never let go of his hand. “You go. I’ll go to the bar and grab a pitcher.”

“Okay,” she says, squeezing his hand. She lets it drop and pushes past him. He waits a second to turn around and watch her, but when he does, she’s smiling at him over her shoulder. The smile is like a promise. Their conversation isn’t over yet.

 


End file.
